


On The Last Gesture Between Us

by hanwritessolo



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 02:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18326504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanwritessolo/pseuds/hanwritessolo
Summary: Sa’van has not slept easy since the day Gladio left without a word. He has not been answering any of her calls, nor is he responding to any of her messages. Which is probably reasonable, granted their last argument. But what is not reasonable, however, is for him to show up out of the blue after weeks of waiting, with a scar on his forehead and all wounded right outside her doorstep.





	On The Last Gesture Between Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [novastral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/novastral/gifts).



Cleigne, in the height of summer, smelled of sun-warmed earth and sea breeze and crisp potpourri, and although Sa’van had grown fond of the vibrant greenness of the many trees, the bustling streets and multi-coloured buildings of Lestallum, and the delicate secrecy of its hole-in-the-wall shops, all its rustic grace that charmed her seemed to have lost its appeal. Her stay in the farmhouse by the outskirts of the city was stilled by monotony. These days, she found herself waking up each morning in a torpid state, slowed by sadness, terrified with the thought of facing the stretch of day before her. An odd thing how weeks before, she had been at her happiest with Gladio by her side, delighting her with every view and marvel there was to see in the world. He had taken her to new places, showed her evenings wild with stars, traded stories with her all night until sunrise. 

But now, as she stared out the window, watching the dawn paint the sky in a fury of colours, all she saw was Gladio’s glaring absence.

Perhaps this would have been entirely different had Gladio said why he was leaving—or, more importantly, had they not argued  at all the day before he left. Sa’van only wanted to help that afternoon; she was merely worried about Gladio when she saw him down the dirt path leading to the farmhouse, caught in an altercation with a group of Hunters. She never intended to cause further trouble. But as soon as it was all over—thankfully, no one was hurt save for everyone’s egos—Gladio had said some things to her out of his foul temper, and so did she. It angered her, how quickly he dismissed her over his pride, how casually he could wound her with a simple  _ “I didn’t need your help,”  _ and how easily she could counter it with a  _ “I never needed you in the first place.” _

This, of course, was an obvious lie in Sa’van’s part. She never meant any of it. She could never mean it, not in this lifetime or the next. But the gravity of those words she callously dispensed weighed heavier in the void that Gladio has left behind, and she could not help beating herself with it. Had she been too much? Had she hurt him so gravely to warrant his unexpected departure? And what if something had happened to him? Gods be good to her, she could not possibly live with herself—

“Sa’van?”

Monica’s voice was a startling force that yanked her out of the nebulous cloud of her anxious ruminations. Sa’van must have appeared so strangely sullen when Monica called her attention, sitting across from her at the breakfast table, looking at her with the utmost concern. The plate of bacon and eggs before her had gone cold, her cup of coffee no longer offered its warmth. Outside, rain had started to pour.

“Is everything alright?” asked Monica. “Do you like me to reheat—“

“No, it’s fine,” Sa’van said blankly. She paused to stare at her cup. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she said, looking up at Monica. “What was it you’re saying again?”

Monica sighed and smiled. “Sa’van.”

“Yeah?”

“He’ll be fine.” Monica pushed her plate aside, leaning closer, spreading her elbows over the table. “Gladio will be back before you even know it.”

Sa’van stared out the window. Summer rain and mist covered the meadow in sheets of gray, the sound of the downpour echoed like beats of a drum against the roof. “How can you be so sure?” she said, after a timid pause.

“Because I’ve known Gladio since he was a boy,” said Monica, “and he is faithful to his duty just like his father. He must have a good reason for leaving. Also…” She trailed off, spearing a piece of pancake left from her plate. “I’ve never seen him care for someone the same way he cares about you,” she added in between chews. “Not to mention, you are the only one who has ever managed to keep his ego in check.”

Sa’van exhaled a wry chuckle. “I think you’re mistaken. He’s—“

“He’s too quick to anger, yes, and the two of you had said things you didn’t mean, I know,” said Monica mildly. She sipped from her cup of coffee and spared Sa’van a knowing glance. “Just because the two of you fought doesn’t mean you love each other any less.”

“Wait—I, uh—“ Sa’van stuttered, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks—  _ “Love?  _ I don’t think that’s the case  _ at all—“ _

“And yet your face begs to differ,” Monica teased. 

Sa’van said nothing. In the short time that she had known Monica, she had been the most comforting company she never thought she needed. Monica may not seem like it, but behind her gentle demeanor hides a fierce companion and an even fiercer friend, one who offers her sage advice without hesitation nor reservations—her light-hearted teasing included.

And at this rate, Sa’van was not surprised to know that Monica was keenly aware of her own feelings far too well than she ever did.

Maybe Sa’van really did  _ love  _ Gladio. No, scratch that—it would be wrong to say it was still matter of  _ maybe. _ She loved him. She  _ loves  _ him—ruthlessly and recklessly so. That could be the only thing that makes sense why the hurt and agony she felt so strongly threatened to rip her insides apart. Why she longed for him to come back because she needed for him to know. She badly wanted to let him know how all this time, the feeling she could not name had been obvious all along. 

“Um, I…” Sa’van heaved a deep sigh. “Thank you, Monica.”

Monica raised a curious brow. “For what? What exactly did I do now?”

“For… being here. And for slapping some sense in my head, I suppose.”

Monica reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Well, you’re always welcome. Now—“ she took the plate of Sa’van’s barely eaten breakfast— “I’ll reheat this for you. Oh, and I have business to attend to in Lestallum and I’ll be back by tomorrow. So while I’m gone, can you promise me to eat well this time around?”

Sa’van smiled. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

Sa’van woke from a heavy, dreamless sleep when she heard the knock on the door. She glanced at the flashing, violent red of a digital clock by her bedside table and saw that it was only two-thirty. Another knock came in. Monica did say she would be back in the morning, but Sa’van never expected it would be at this ungodly hour.

Scrambling to her feet, she got out of bed, took her cardigan and hurried down the ill-lit hallway. Her footsteps creaked in the silence. The rain had stopped, but the faint breeze that blew from the windows carried the fragrant scent of mildew and earth. 

The series of knocks got louder, more insistent this time. “Just a minute,” she called out. 

She opened the door. She had been expecting to see Monica on the other side, but who she saw out on the porch had her heart punctured out of her chest.

It was Gladio. He was leaning with one elbow against the doorframe, the huff of his breaths uneven and ragged. Sa’van did not need to look twice to see how his face was caked in dirt, his clothes drenched in blood.

“Oh  _ gods,” _ she exhaled, her nerves suddenly fried with a horrible panic. With terrifying haste, she looped one arm around his waist, got his arm and slung it around her neck. Gladio, staggering beneath his weight, limped by her side as she maneuvered him inside, weaving down the hall and got him into the couch. How she managed to support and carry all six-foot-six of Gladio given her small and delicate frame, Sa’van did not know. All she knew was at that moment, she was strengthened by a crushing adrenaline, by a sweeping wave of worry, by a sickening fear of losing Gladio all at once.

Gladio winced as he struggled to sit upright. “Vannie, I—“

“No, don’t you  _ dare  _ move,” Sa’van said sternly. “Wait right here.” She rushed to the kitchen, scoured all the cupboards for Monica’s supplies and grabbed the vials of potions she could find. Thankfully, Monica had taught her a thing or two about administering first aid during her spare time; Sa’van never really imagined an occasion where she would find use for such a skill, but with Gladio now half-dying on her couch, she wished she had learned it sooner. 

Armed with a handful of curatives and a medical kit, she hurried back to Gladio and carefully sat next to him. Immediately, she cracked open a potion bottle against his chest; then with clinical concentration, she began to tend to his wounds. The scent of antiseptic was sharp, almost dizzying. With eyes closed, Gladio remained as calm as he could; Sa’van saw how he resisted the urge to hiss at the pain as she gently rubbed a damp cloth over his arms, his hands, his chest. 

“So,” Sa’van started, “looks like you were in the business of collecting new scars, huh.”

Gladio sighed wearily. “Vannie.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” said Gladio weakly. “For everything. For what I said. I…  I’m sorry for putting you through all of this.” 

“You scared me out of my wits,” said Sa’van. 

“I know. And I’m really sorry.”

“You could’ve called.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Gladio fell silent. A strange pause lingered. She squeezed the bloodied water out from the cloth and into the basin. Not long after she was done wrapping Gladio’s injuries, she tidied her things back to the kit. Bandage, gauze, bottles upon bottles. Then, looking up at Gladio, she said: “I’m sorry, too. For what I said that time. I understand if you’re mad at me, I was being such a pain to you—“

“No, Vannie—are you kidding me? I could  _ never  _ be mad at you.” Gladio, with much effort, adjusted his body and tried to straighten in his seat. His voice was hoarse, gravelly with exhaustion. He took Sa’van’s hand in his. “You’re never a pain to me. Not once. I was the jerk. You have nothing to apologize for.”

They were silent again for a while. Sa’van leaned her head on Gladio’s shoulder, and he looped an arm around hers. He held her firmly as she basked in his warmth, the comfort of this moment, the fluency of their silence. A damp cool breeze swirled through the curtains. Outside, the crickets hummed. It was almost dawn.

“What happened, Gladio?” asked Sa’van. “What happened to you?”

Gladio regarded Sa’van for a passing moment, pressed a kiss on the crown of her head. He hesitated at first. But soon enough, he began telling her about his encounter with the High Commander of the Imperial Army, how he felt helpless to defend Noctis, and how he needed to regain his strength by venturing out to a place called the Tempering Grounds, just so he could prove to himself that he was still worthy to serve as Shield of the King.

“That time, I felt so incapable of doing the only thing I knew how to do best,” Gladio added glumly. “I was supposed to be good at this. And yet…” He sighed. His gaze was morose, distant. “Anyway. The reason why I didn’t tell you sooner is ‘cause I was ashamed. Kind of. I didn’t want you to think me to be so  _ weak.  _ Because honestly, I am—“

“Gladio.” Sa’van turned to him, her eyes marred with an inexplicable hurt. Not for herself, but for him. As far as she knew Gladio, not once did he ever exhibit any sign of self-doubt; he always oozed with confidence, always boasted his courage like a badge of honour, that hearing this from him gutted her. 

She cupped his face in the palm of her small hands. “Having doubts is nothing to be ashamed of. It is not a sign of weakness, only a sign that you are human. And Gladio, you are  _ not _ weak. Far from it.” Her voice was gentle, yet her words resounded an unflinching sternness. “And if you think you are—which I think is quite absurd—I will never tire of convincing you otherwise. Because I love you and honestly, you’re the strongest person I know. In all aspects. Trust me on this.”

Gladio stared at her. A wide smile spread across his face. “Say that again.”

Sa’van frowned. “What?”

“That thing you said.”

“Your ego is unbelievable.” Sa’van rolled her eyes and laughed. To humour him, she repeated, “‘You’re the strongest person I know’ is what I said—“

“No, not that.” Gladio barked an amused laughter. “The other thing.”

Sa’van blinked. By degrees, the realization hit her like a speeding bus.

Gladio saw the rosy colour that creeped on her face. Finally, he asked, “Do you mean it?”

“Of course I do, you idiot,” Sa’van snapped. “I love you. So much so that it hurts. So much so that I was out of my mind when you left—”

All the remaining words perished at the tip of her tongue when Gladio kissed her with such a crushing urgency that she almost forgot how to breathe. He kissed her as if he was meant to steal the air out of her lungs, as if the time they had been apart was a crime that he needed to atone for with this: his lips on hers, his hands all over her.

“I love you, too,” Gladio said as he pulled away, his forehead pressed against hers. Sa’van smiled, and so did he. He pressed another kiss on her chin, her cheek, her forehead. “I love you so much that I’d be lost without you.”

 


End file.
